For some reason (see: bank account balance), my international trips always require no fewer than five flights and at least one painful layover (there’s also the four-hour drive to/from Denver International Airport, which is but one reason for my forthcoming move to Austin). I’m not complaining: I love travel so much that I’ll fly in a cargo hold if that’s what it takes (Pass on the overhead bin). Last month, seven consecutive flights were required for me to get from southern Patagonia to Denver, which is less a commentary on my endurance than it is the size of the Americas.

Before sharing my duty-free pillaging hacks, allow me to explain why I’ve stepped up my pre-flight skin prep game. Five years ago, I had a rather traumatic experience while obtaining a Bolivian visa at 3am. I’d been in transit for a day and a half and didn’t realize I’d have my picture taken on the spot.

I’d include a copy of my visa photo here, but I’m single and need all the help I can get. Let’s just say Inow know what I’d look like as a cadaver.

With apologies to Paramount Pictures

But. I have problematic skin (dry/”mature”/cystic acne- a lovely trifecta) and maintain a care routine at home, but I can’t afford the really good shit. So, before I board a long-haul flight destined to suck every molecule of moisture from my body, I hit a duty-free shop and slather myself with samples of costly serums, essences, creams and mists. I marinate in these luxurious products in-flight (I also try and drink as much water as possible, but the downside of Xanax is that I sometimes sleep too much and wake up feeling like/resembling a piece of jerky).

I took these photos during a day-long layover in Istanbul a few months back- it was part of a grueling, 40-hour journey home from Zimbabwe. After a month spent camping, rafting and trekking, I was pretty tore up andduty-free was a glittering oasis of redemption.

Step-by-step, here’s how to prep for a long-haul flight if you’re a broke-ass dirtbag:

During layovers or before a red-eye, I first cleanse my skin with micellar water (duty-free aside, I also carry this stuff in my daypack, as it’s perfect for camping, mid-flight and realllly long bus rides). I then begin my greedy regimen, experimenting with new products each time (the more costly, the better). Psst, this is how I discovered the miracle that is Kiehl’s Daily Reviving Concentrate.

Yaaaaesss.

Regardless of your age, your eye and neck areas will suffer in-flight; by the time you deplane, you’ll resemble an FBI age-progression image. Heavy eye creams can cause clogged oil glands (ew), so I use an antioxidant serum followed by a light moisturizer. I then slather my neck (thanks a lot, Nora Ephron) with lifting cream followed by an overnight mask. These steps are critical: Since starting this routine, I no longer want to put a bag over my head upon landing. I draw the line at wearing a sheet mask in-flight because…I’m not a fucking supermodel.

This photo just confirmed my worst fears about my nose, which I broke twice over the course of two weeks last year. Tip: Turn on the light before you stumble to bed after a Netflix binge- sometimes the wind blows doors shut. Ow.

I highly recommend you only use skin care samples housed in pump dispensers, because…germs. I can handle being a walking biohazard, but other people’s pathogens? Nope.

Okay, so your face is primed, but what about the rest of you? You know that gross feeling, when you haven’t done laundry in two three weeksand you’re only halfway through a 30-hour journey home? No? Anyway. After an-insert-ethnic-slur-of-choice shower (aka baby wipes) in the restroom, I mist my clothes and hat with a light cologne from duty-free (hats are mandatory for travel- if I’m coming home from a backpacking adventure, I likely have quasi-dreads due to my fine hair. If there are hair products, I work some leave-in conditioner or oil-based serum into my ends to undo the damage).

Yes, really.

Don’t forget the sunscreen if you’re on a daytime flight: UV rays are brutal at altitude, so I always pack a lightweight scarf for my neck, as well. Pop a Xanax, don a pair of shades, cinch a hoodie around your head and drift off, with the happy knowledge you’ll wake up to better skin. And yes, you are correct: I won’t wear a sheet mask in-flight, but I’ll willingly look like the Unabomber. I’m vain, but not that vain.

And there you have it. Follow these steps and I promise you’ll arrive at your destination looking…passable. You’re welcome.

I woke up the other morning in the back seat of my car, which was parked on a side street in Idaho Springs, Colorado. Still bleary from the Xanax I’d taken to ensure a decent night’s sleep and clad in the above attire, I stumbled to a small park populated by resident tweakers and assorted vagrants, in dire need of the public restroom. I looked- and probably smelled- like their kin, so it seemed right I not get hoity-toity about the toilet situation.

A shirtless meth head, his wiry, tattooed body muscled like a fist, saw me and smiled. “I love your outfit,” he said cheerfully. When I snorted in surprise, he said, “Seriously. It looks really cozy!” Never underestimate the sartorial assessment of a guy who’s been awake for three days.

Indeed my ensemble was cozy, because I’d slept in it. I’d driven up to Idaho Springs from a food conference in Denver the night before, having engaged in a bit too much day-drinking with my publisher and colleagues (I’d had every intention of driving home after manning our booth, but then the Bloody Mary’s commenced, and there was nary an affordable room to be had).

After a sweaty car nap on a sketchy block downtown, I was sufficiently sober to drive the 30 minutes to Idaho Springs, but too exhausted and night vision-impaired to make it home. Even the dumpiest motels charge extortionist rates once you hit the mountains, and what the fuck, I’ve lived in my car before (see, Summer of ’94, San Diego). I’d just conk out and hit the road in the morning.

Photo love: YouTube

This very scenario is why I keep my car-sleeping essentials in the back seat at all times. In addition to a sleeping bag and blankets for padding/emergency blizzards, I have an LED headlamp (you don’t want to drain your car battery, nor draw attention to the fact that you’re, you know, sleeping in your car) extra batteries, baby wipes (No shower? No problem), reading material, a pair of sweats and a winter jacket, drinking water and a sleep aid. I’m an insomniac of epic proportions- there’s a reason this blog is dedicated to a certain pharmaceutical.

I know I’m not the only dirtbag/cheapskate out there who actually enjoys sleeping in my car, so I’ve provided the following tips to make your experience a little more comfortable and a whole lot safer. And fyi, Idaho Springs is adorable- it’s just off the I-70 corridor so it attracts some nefarious types at the fringes. Solo female travelers who sleep in their cars are attuned to these things.

Without further ado:

Do your research
If you’re somewhere urban, be sure to scope out signage so you don’t end up ticketed or towed, or arrested. It’s a fairly well known fact that most Walmarts allow overnight RV parking. It ain’t the Ritz, but it works in a pinch.

A large cup
How do I put this delicately? Sometimes, you’re just not parked in a place where it’s feasible, as a woman, to pop a squat. I learned this while “living” in San Diego. All of the homes in the cul-de-sac had motion sensor lights and a lack of shrubbery, making bladder relief extraordinarily complicated. After complaining to a fellow car-dweller, he told me, “Dude, you totally need to get a Big Gulp cup.” Dude, it totally solved the problem. Just remember to dump it down a storm drain, and not on someone’s landscaping- you’re not a fucking animal.

A shower plan of action
Depending upon your situation, you can often shower for free at the beach (skip the soap and shampoo or ask a ranger or lifeguard if biodegradable products are okay to use), or pay at a rec center, gym or campground. I confess I’ve snuck into campgrounds before and poached a shower but I try to avoid such shady behavior, mainly because I’m afraid of getting caught. Also, keep a towel in your car- you’d be amazed by how useful it is (providing traction when you’re stuck in the snow, anyone? Anyone?).

Be sure your cellphone is charged and within reach
This is useless if you’re in an area without service (if you have an inkling that’s going to be the case, call, text, or email a family member or friend with your approximate location for the night before you get out of range). A phone can prove invaluable if you run into trouble. Sweet dreams.

When I was seven, my parents took me and my older brother on a ski trip to Vail. The thing I remember most vividly isn’t schussing the slopes, but rather, a restaurant named after a convicted cannibal. If you know anything about my childhood, this should come as no surprise.

In search of a place for dinner one evening, we stumbled upon a creekside eatery called Alfie Packer’s- I can recall my parents cracking up at the name. I think I had a mouthful of cheeseburger when they explained the story behind the restaurant’s moniker, thus instilling in me a lifelong obsession with cannibalism and a lust for fucked-up survival stories.

For the uninitiated, the “Colorado Cannibal,” Alferd (née Alfred) G. Packer, was a prospector convicted of murdering and eating his five companions while trapped at the base of Slumgullion Pass, outside of present-day Lake City, during the winter of 1875. (read the dirty details in my post for 5280 magazine).

Packer was eventually released on parole, and became a Colorado folk hero of sorts. The embodiment of pioneer badassery, gumption and fortitude, he’s been immortalized in everything from film and song to food service (the University of Colorado Boulder cafeteria is named the Alferd Packer Restaurant & Grill; when it opened in 1968, its catchphrase was, “Have a friend for lunch!”). My brother lives in Truckee, and I’m fond of pointing out that California could stand to get a sense of humor about the the whole Donner Party thing (note that both of us live in areas infamous for cannibalism: Coincidence? I think not).

“Downtown” Lake City. Photo love: LCHC-CCC

This Memorial Day weekend, Lake City is bringing its defunct Packer Days festival back from the dead (sorry, had to). It’s less a celebration of cannibalism than survivalism, featuring events like a Run for Your Life Survival 5k, a Mystery Meat Cook-off, and Scavenger Hunt.

Lake City is worth a visit even if you don’t consider cannibalism cool; it’s a bitch to get to, but the region’s alpine lakes, outdoor pursuits and scenery are worth the effort. The town itself is just as alluring, nestled as it is in a pocket of the San Juan Mountains. It’s a legitimate relic of the Old West, boasting well-preserved buildings, a dusty main drag, and a handful of saloons, restaurants and a truly excellent museum; just up the road is the famed Alferd Packer Massacre site and Cannibal Plateau.

Ready for a road trip? Hit up the Lake City Chamber’s site for details, and don’t forget to pack some snacks- you can never be too prepared.

Every year at this time, my family and I duke it out over the turkey. It’s not about, “Should we brine it or deep-fry?” or, “Do we baste it with cultured butter made by blind Norman nuns or massage it with a dry-rub of hand-harvested spices grown on an 8th-century Kerala plantation?”

Sorry to disappoint, but with the Miller’s, the conversation always comes down to this (the following are direct quotes I’ve received from family members this month):

“I found a pre-brined turkey at Trader Joe’s. ”

“Why would you pre-order a turkey? You’re the only one who cares about its upbringing.”

In this big, complicated country of ours- where we have so many choices with regard to our food supply– it’s about doing the best you can. Armageddon will not occur when said Butterball lands on the dinner table- but I firmly believe that as consumers all, we have a moral obligation to educate ourselves and our children about where our food comes from. As consumers, we deserve to have access to that information, regardless of our socioeconomic status. Wholesome, responsibly-raised and -grown food shouldn’t be a luxury for anyone, but realistically, we must rely upon integrated agriculture to feed our growing domestic- and global- population.

Worrying about how my Thanksgiving turkey was raised is a First-World problem, and for that, I’m thankful. Happy Thanksgiving, America.

A year ago today, a 7.8 earthquake struck Nepal. I missed the disaster by 24 hours. I’d been in Nepal for two weeks to trek, run the remote Tamur River, and research a feature for culture: the word on cheese, on Nepali cheesemaking. The story, which was slated to run last fall, was by necessity postponed to this spring; most of the cheesemakers I profiled were affected by the earthquake, but fortunately, they suffered only minor losses and no casualties.

Churrpi- dried yak cheese- air-dries in Gufa Pokari

On this, the anniversary of Nepal’s deadliest natural disaster, I’m sharing my culture feature in its entirety. It includes relief donation information (still critically needed), but it also it shows the beauty, generosity of spirit, and resilience of the Nepali people. It’s my dairy-centric love letter to the most incredible country I’ve ever visited.

“It’s perhaps the most unlikely spot on earth to taste locally made, French-style cheeses: the rooftop of an apartment building in the Lazimpat neighborhood of Kathmandu. It’s April 10, 2015, two weeks before a devastating earthquake will level much of the city and villages throughout this region of Nepal, causing an avalanche on Mount Everest and resulting in over 9,000 fatalities. An aftershock on May 12 will cause further devastation and increase the death toll.

At the moment, however, I’m sitting with French cheesemaker François Driard in a high-rise urban oasis that seems a million miles from the smog and chaos below, watching the sun set and sipping Pastis between bites of his superb tomme. Driard owns Himalayan French Cheese and produces a diverse array of pasteurized cow’s and yak’s milk cheeses at his two creameries in the foothills of some of the highest mountains in the world.

I’ve been fascinated with Nepali cheesemaking since researching my book, Cheese for Dummies, mostly because little has been written about it. Last spring I traveled there to explore both rural cheesemaking traditions and how Kathmandu-area producers such as Driard are modernizing their craft for a feature in the Autumn 2014 issue of culture. But nature had other plans. Now it’s also a story about how Nepal and the cheesemakers I met there are moving on, one year after the country’s deadliest natural disaster on record.”